


Meeting You

by UnrealRomance



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: Enemies to Rivals to Friends to Lovers, F/M, I am not doing regular love triangle shit, I've even considered polyamory in which they date her but not each other, Minors DNI, Minors do not interact, No dubious consent, No rapey Romance tropes, No romanticized Abuse, Slow Burn, Yes it will be long, at this point anything can happen, yes it will be a, you don't have to be afraid that it'll take a sudden dark turn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrealRomance/pseuds/UnrealRomance
Summary: The rewritten version of my original attempt at this story. Though to be quite frank even that was a complete rewrite of yet another version by the same name...Robyn Loom has been newly hired by the Mayor of Gotham city to assist the GCPD. She's a criminal profiler, counselor and consultant. Although she is part of the FBI, her success rate and work ethic mean she gets to choose where she works and with whom. She isn't allowed to work alone, much to her chagrin-- but she's learned to deal with it.This time, though, she's in for a surprise. She's never worked with vigilantes in an official capacity before.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Original Female Character(s), Killer Croc/Original Female Character(s), The Riddler/Original Female Character(s), Waylon Jones/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanna make this clear:
> 
> This story is not about dating evil rogues. It does not have rapey, abusive tropes in it. And if you notice any that I've missed, please inform me.
> 
> And this story isn't meant to glorify the police either, so you'll find areas where the main character catches bad cops, breaks the law to do what's right, etc etc.
> 
> This story is about finding a balance between what society says is right and what you know to be right. And then keeping that balance as long as possible without getting your ass thrown in jail or being murdered by a rogue who feels threatened by your presence.
> 
> Enjoy.

"Mayor Keane," I greet the woman with enthusiasm.

After all, there haven't been many mayors in Gotham with consecutive runs over a two or three year period. And Mayor Keane is going on Five.

"Special Agent Loom," she says. Shaking my hand with a firm and authoritative grip. Eyes on mine, or perhaps only near mine- but to me it seems as though she's staring straight into them.

This woman knows how to present herself to those under her. Form a strong first impression and emphasize your power and authority.

Even if a man with ideas about how 'ridiculous' a woman mayor is was to become one of her direct underlings, they'd be hard-pressed to find fault with her in the first meeting if this is how she greets everyone.

"You can just call me Robyn or Officer Loom," I reply. "I don't like being affiliated with the FBI. They pay my salary but I work in police offices, so I'd prefer if everyone were as familiar with me as possible. The FBI is scary to most people and a lot of my job is being approachable."

She inclines her head, "I will see to it that everyone on the command level gets that memo."

"Thank you, ma'am," I reply. "Am I to go directly to the GCPD?"

"Not just yet," she says.

Turning, she gestures at me to follow her.

Considering we're in the Mayor's office, there's…LOTS of space. But I can tell where she's leading me almost immediately.

There are several open doors down the hallway and only three that are closed. By the way she's listing slightly to the left, I'm guessing we're heading for the nearest one on the left hand side. She'd have started listing a little later if it were the further one.

People unconsciously telegraph their moves all the time.

The only trick to reading those moves is that you've gotta pay attention and know how to analyze them.

She opens the door on a meeting room and I follow her inside.

"Jim," she greets the man standing against the far wall.

He nods upward to acknowledge her. "Mayor Keane."

He's an older gentleman, maybe fifty or so years of age. Salt-and-pepper hair.

"This is Agent Loom," the mayor introduces me. "She'd prefer to be addressed as either Officer Loom or Robyn."

He grunts. "Well, officer. I got you your first case."

"That's…unusual," I reply.

"That's Gotham," the Mayor says. "I had him hold this one in reserve for you, because I want to see what you can gather from the casefile. Consider it already closed, but…"

She gestures me to the file sitting on the table in the middle of the room.

I walk across the linoleum flooring and settle into one of the metal chairs. Leather cushioning…still slightly uncomfortable.

You'd think a Mayor could afford better seats for the important people she's meeting with. But hey, maybe she's spending taxes on actually useful things.

The file itself is normal, with a tab labeled 'robbery' with the date, time and location listed.

Flipping it open, I take note that it's a small-time robbery in a crime-riddled area.

Meaning, it could be literally anyone.

I usually only hunt serial killers, big time criminals and those who have repeat patterns.

This isn't up my alley.

But the suspect in the investigation is listed as 'Catwoman'.

"Pfft," I scoff and go down the list of stolen items. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Something you want to share?" the Mayor asks. Leaning on the wall behind me while the Commissioner leans on the wall before me.

She didn't introduce him, but I do my homework on jobs like this. It pays to know who everyone is, when they're in powerful and advantageous positions.

"Is this supposed to be some kinda trick case?" I ask. "Of course she didn't do this. Catwoman's profile is so mismatched to this case, it's ridiculous."

"There was a witness," the Commissioner gruffly states.

"Oh well, it's not like anyone can just say they saw a woman in tight clothing and then assume it was Catwoman based on stories they read in the paper," I say. "It may have not even been a woman, maybe it was just a man in tight clothes seen from far away. Did he say specifically that it was her without a doubt?"

"He did," the mayor replies. "Even said she blew a kiss and leapt away."

"Clayface, then," I reply. "He takes on the likenesses of many different rogues in order to steal or harass people for whatever reason- it also fits with the timeframe of his getting out of and then going back into Arkham's special holding cells. He was out the week this happened, I saw it on the news."

"You remember things like that?" the Commissioner asks.

"I was still considering an assignment to Gotham when it happened," I reply. "I've done my due diligence, and things relating to my research stick in my mind."

"Anything else?" the Mayor asks.

"I'm guessing he had a falling-out with Catwoman, seeing as he doesn't usually take on the faces of anyone he actually likes at the moment," I reply. "I did some research into the interpersonal relationships between the rogues for my Psychology course in college."

Shrugging, I flip the file closed. "Clayface dislikes being people he feels close to or has any sort of affinity towards. When he transforms, he thinks of it as slipping into their skin. It feels less scary if it's someone you dislike or aren't that close to."

The mayor walks over and leans on the table next to me, looking up at the commissioner.

"Well, Jim?" she asks.

He grunts. "Fine, she's good. Come on. We gotta get you logged before the precinct closes. I got a thing with my daughter tonight."

I follow him as he brushes out of the room.

"Which division will I be working in, Commissioner?" I ask.

He hums as we walk down the plushly carpeted hallway toward the receiving area. "I'm thinking the Vigilante Relations Division."

The VRD? The Division that houses all the detectives working directly with _Batman_?

"I'm still a little shocked that vigilantes are even allowed in Gotham in any official capacity. No matter how good they are," I say.

"Technically you're not a vigilante if you've been authorized by the state," he says. "But you gotta remind 'em where they stand and that they're not the law. They're just helping us out. Otherwise they go around behind your back."

"Speaking from experience?" I haze a guess.

"Pah," he says as we walk through the doors. "The Bat's the only one that sticks as close to protocol as possible and only goes off-script when necessary…the rest of 'em…"

Ah, that's right. There's been a rash of vigilantes ever since Batman showed up. Some of them copycats, some of them ex-officers or people who got kicked out of the academy.

The police give them an official position in which they can help solve crimes by doing paperwork, running errands, helping out at the lab and things of that nature.

Lots of people drop it after the thrill is gone. If they don't agree to join the program, they're arrested.

Pretty good way to deter vigilantes and cultivate actual talent, if you ask me.

"Who came up with this program, sir?" I ask.

He makes an unimpressed sound. "Thought you did your research?"

"I did, sir," I reply. "But it only said it was a collaboration. So I was wondering if it was someone else, or if my suspicion about it being you and Batman held some water."

He shoots me a look and heads for a police car. "Let's go. You can psychoanalyze me when you've solved every cold case in Gotham."

Ah, one of those.


	2. Chapter 2

"Very young or very inexperienced or both," I say as I look over the crime scene photos.

"Then…" the man overseeing the case that I'm looking at hesitates.

"Wait till I'm done," I reply. "It's possible that they're SO experienced they're doing things as if they're inexperienced to throw people off- but that's only the case usually when someone has a job related to butchery, doctoring or something else that involves cutting things up meticulously. So you're either looking at a genuine novice or someone with a job in which they're really good at this kind of thing, who's masking their skills. Really only one way to know which one it is."

He nods along. "That is?"

"Well catching them, of course, but also…" I flip to the next page. "The internal work is also very sloppy- but they removed organs. Which means they need to USE said organs or they took them out to play with them or keep them. The organs themselves were handled roughly, it looks like- but more carefully than the outside. So I'd say it's an amateur taking trophies. Any expert would know how to make it look bad without damaging the organs. But the coroner says the organs were probably pretty badly damaged by how they were removed."

"What if there's no internal injuries or organs stolen?" he asks. "How do you tell, then?"

"Usually by where the attacks occur," I reply. "Where on the body, how effective it would've been at silently and quickly killing the victim. Also 'where' as in the location. This guy killed someone in an empty subway station. Those places are never empty for long, even in the middle of the night. Nobody'd do that unless they were an amateur or trying to make a statement."

He nods again, "okay…and so am I looking for a kid or an adult?"

"I'd say teenager or young adult," I reply. "It COULD be an older man who's just gotten into the murdering business, but I doubt it. This mistake is so basic, it's either a ruse or a younger person. So keep your mind open, but…my bet is on teenager or young adult."

An adult trying to seem less experienced would probably focus on death itself and the state of the body rather than everything around it.

Unless they're a pro, in which case, you can't really trust anything about this information.

But try telling a cop that.

"Loom!" Bullock shouts from across the Precinct. "Get yer ass over here, I need a consult."

As crass as Bullock can be, I still prefer him over most of the men in this office. He might not always be right, but his experience means he's wrong less often than they are.

Gordon is wrong even less often than he is. Or so I've seen from my research.

But Gordon doesn't take an active part in my work unless he needs to, apparently so I'm working under Bullock for now.

In the Vigilante Relations Division. VRD…it's even printed on the badge they gave me.

I mean, I already had a badge, but you need special ones in Gotham.

It's nearly impossible to imitate. They're apparently on the fifteenth generation of badges which are difficult to duplicate. Not only is it really finely engraved with unique filigree but it's also made from a specific metal and apparently is filled with some kind of…weird goo that's been formulated to show up on a scanner.

I don't know anything about tech or science when it comes to this sort of subject so I just take it all to mean that a LOT of people have attempted to impersonate the cops so they've gotten better at making that difficult.

You can also hold two badges together and the goo inside will warm up, so even if you don't have a scanner, you can tell that way.

The fact that they have an entire course just on the badges mean they really do not want impersonations happening.

But then, I suppose that makes sense, considering what happened the last time someone was able to pull it off.

So I make my over to Bullock where a person is being wheeled through on a stretcher. Unconscious.

"I'm not going to talk to them?" I ask.

Feminine figure, lightly tinted green skin and bright red rose-petal hair.

Poison Ivy. Huh. Figured I'd have to spend more time working before I met a Rogue in person.

"Nah, not necessary," he says. "I just need to know your opinion on her ah…"

He gestures at me to finish his sentence.

"Psych profile?" I ask.

Snapping, he points at me. "That's the one. So what's your opinion?"

"Arkham is the only place that can actually hold her, so my opinion is irrelevant. But truthfully she's not mentally disturbed. She might have trauma and mental disorders but nothing that would cause anything she's done. She's not delusional or psychotic- meaning she doesn't have delusions or hallucinations. She knows what she's doing. If we had the option, we could lock her up in Blackgate."

"Right, figured as much," he says. "Doesn't really matter if she's cracked or not if we have no other options, right? But the Mayor's insistent that we keep talkin' to you about this crap."

"She wants to integrate me as much as possible," I reply. "See how I work with everyone."

"You ask me, she shouldn't be involved. It's police business," he says as they wheel Poison Ivy away. "Gordon knows how these things are done."

"Gordon is also a kind of gruff, emotionally distant person who doesn't seem to get along with much more than you and a handful of other officers, plus Batman." I shrug and smile. "Maybe he's a great cop, but the Mayor is emotionally savvy. She knows I can't survive here without allies, so she's trying to find me some."

I don't really _need_ the help, but it IS appreciated.

"Whatever," he says. "Just remember to go through the cold cases that are from the past few years and let me know if anything sticks out. Other than that, we've got nothin' for ya right now."

"I have other things to attend to, myself, but I will get those cold cases looked over first," I reply. "Question though, before I go- are people allowed to visit in Arkham and who can I talk to about those procedures? I tried finding the information online but it seems like their site doesn't have it."

"Yeah well you gotta go through a thorough check before you can even get to the front entrance through the gate," he says. "If you need to know the procedures, you'd have to visit somebody, otherwise they don't just give that information out."

Keeps the general populace from knowing exactly what goes into it.

Sure, people could be shaken down for the information, but they probably couldn't tell them if they had sensors hidden in the walls…

There might be somebody else who knows, though.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting into Arkham is difficult, but not impossible.

I manage to set up a tour by pulling strings for the first time in Gotham. I asked the Mayor and Commissioner to both get me in there, so it's not like it was going to fail but…

As careful as they seem to be, I wasn't taking any chances. I had to get in as soon as possible.

It's always good to know the conditions in which people will be living if you declare them legally insane. Because while some people might _need_ help and literally not understand what they did, most specifically those who hallucinate and have delusions and don't even know where they are- most of the people going to Arkham will probably end up being guys with no mental issues whatsoever.

People with depression and anxiety don't accidentally murder someone. Even those with hallucinations and delusions need to be violent to commit some kind of violent crime and most of them…aren't.

So Arkham shouldn't have so many people in it to begin with.

Their lawyers advise an insanity plea and they get time in a place that isn't prison. They don't care that they're still imprisoned and they have basically the same accommodations, it still isn't prison.

To be quite honest, prison is broken and shouldn't exist anymore but I'd prefer not to put the murdering asshole who was wholly cognizant of his crimes in a cell with a person who actually requires help because there's non-zero chance that guy is going to abuse and manipulate them.

The front gate is part of the checkpoints employed to check people over.

They scan the car you come in if you have one- I took the subway and a bus -and if you don't they scan you before you get inside the gates and then do another deeper scan when you enter the front doors.

After going through all the scans, they ask verbally about what I have on my person and then catalogue it and get me to hand everything over to be put in a locker where they will retrieve it when I'm done with my visit.

I didn't really bring anything with me, except for a pad of paper and a pen- which I was apparently not allowed to have.

They gave me a special lapel speakerphone thing and an earwig for speaking to security- someone would jot down my notes FOR me and…well, that sucks.

I write in shorthand, usually because it makes my notes harder for other people to discern and it makes it quicker and easier to get things down.

Spending two hours on a tour, waiting painstaking minutes for a person in the security officer to be finished writing each line of notes, flip the page and then start writing again…it was torture.

But now…

"Wait wait wait, she refuses to eat anything plant-based and you can't give her anything plant-based because she'd use it to break out or hurt someone- so what are you giving her instead?" I ask.

"Supplements, usually," the psychologist replies. "But she refuses to take them. She says she can't take anything plant-based which means any herbal supplements are immediately thrown back in the orderlies' faces."

"Animal product based supplements?" I ask. "Maybe some mineral based supplements?"

"Of course," they reply. "But if she refuses to eat plant products, there's nothing we can do."

"Am I allowed to ask her about this?" I ask. "Since I'm here and they consulted me on sending her here?"

"If you think you can help, be my guest," she says.

Obviously she's dealt with people thinking they can do her job before and I'd almost feel bad about that if she weren't wearing a condescending little smile and acting like I was a four year old about to try cooking for the first time.

"I'd like to speak to her, thank you," I reply in the most professional manner possible. "I just want to know what the limits and boundaries of her diet are."

"Right this way," she sweeps off with me in tow and leads me back along the route of the tour.

We reach the maximum security section's doors- where I wasn't allowed previously because I had no business there-

And I realize this woman is taking me into a secure area, where I don't belong- just so she can slam dunk me.

I'm gonna have to call this lady's boss and let them know she can be emotionally manipulated and exactly what happened here- otherwise she's gonna facilitate someone's breakout.

Didn't even have to try and already she's allowed _me_ to somehow unknowingly manipulate her into trying to prove her superiority. Gods preserve, she's even holding the door open and ushering me through with a big smile.

It begins to occur to me that I might actually be dealing with an inmate in a disguise because this situation is SO ridiculous- I expected to be taken to the visitor's area or maybe one of the rooms where they have glass in between the inmates and the doctors- you know, like procedure and shit?

Nope.

"Ivy, it's your lucky day," the doctor sing-songs a little. It's embarrassing, honestly. "You have a visitor!"

Poison Ivy is said to be the most beautiful and formidable woman in Gotham. Harley Quinn and Catwoman are on par, but Ivy can control literally every plant she's in range of so she's quite a bit more deadly and that bumps her to the top of the list for most people.

But what I see is a pale, exhausted, overly medicated and undernourished woman sitting on a hospital bed, struggling to focus on me.

She's being housed in a huge, circular cell with glass on all sides. Or well, not glass. Something specially made, I'm assuming- to be able to stand up to the strength of the other inmates as well as any plants trying to bust through, I'd guess.

"Would you prefer Dr. Isley or Poison Ivy?" I ask. It's what I always ask if I know of an alter-ego name or chosen name of any kind.

The Psychologist next to me glances up and away as if controlling the urge to roll her eyes. "Her name is _Pamela Isley_ and you may call her Miss Isley. We don't build upon power fantasies and address the inmates by their criminal names."

"Poison Ivy it is then," I reply and walk up to the glass. "Yes?"

Ivy nods groggily as the Doctor behind me huffs in aggravation but seems content to do what I think _she_ thinks is screwing myself over or something?

What does she think is happening right now?

"Okay Ivy, can you tell me what foods you can eat? It's okay if you need a minute to think," I say.

It takes a while for her to drudge up the memories of the things I'm asking about, I can see on her face that she's so overly medicated she can probably barely remember her own name, let alone her dietary restrictions.

But she eventually says, "I can't eat plants. Anything else is fine."

"What about the vitamins you can't get from animals and minerals?" I ask her. "You have to somehow get that when you're not in Arkham, so what do you eat usually?"

Her brows furrows up and the Psychologist next to me crosses her arms and looks smug. Like this is something that she's been waiting for.

"I eat fruits and vegetables," she says. "I just can't eat plants like herbs or root vegetables."

And a lightbulb could be hovering over my head for all the shit I just figured out.

She means the _literal_ plant. By-products of the plant like berries and fruits and vegetables off the vine are like…well, it's like an unfertilized chicken egg to a vegetarian I guess? Right on the line of animal product but with no harm or exploitation of the animal.

I turn to the Psychologist and ask, "why the hell isn't anybody giving her supplements that are fruit and vegetable or berry based instead of herb-based?"

The Psychologist gives me a look. "I told you, plant supplements get rejected and thrown back in orderlies faces."

"No, you said that's what happened with _herbal_ supplements. Supplements made from herbs are made from the whole ass plant more often than not. Supplements made from fruits, vegetables and berries are made from something that comes OFF of a plant, in which the plant doesn't need to be harmed. She's asking for ethically sourced fruit proteins and you just shove herbal supplements in her face and expect that to be enough?"

"Hey we're not a catering service for criminals!" she bursts, stomping her foot a little. "She gets what she gets and there's no medical reason she can't- hey, I'm talking to you!"

This fucking woman follows me all the way out of the max security area, into the administration office and even up to the office of the head Psychologist in Arkham.

The whole while telling me off for improper conduct and warning me that she's going to call the police chief in the precinct I work in- obviously she doesn't know I'm under the Commissioner's purview -and get me censured.

I walk into the office, shut the door behind me firmly and flick the lock.

The head Psychologist appears to be a man around his fifties who looks a little alarmed at my entrance.

Rolling my eyes, I point at the door with my thumb. "Can I report a psychologist here for disregarding patient health and allowing unauthorized persons into the max security area?"

His mouth drops open for a short moment, but he snaps it shut and nods shortly. "I…er-hem. I am Doctor Sharp, and I would be happy to help you, miss…?"

"Loom. I was sent by the Mayor and the Commissioner after I expressed a desire to look in on the conditions that the inmates were in- I wanted to check in on Ivy as well as she was the first person I consulted on and I hadn't yet seen to her care." I explain.

He pats himself down nervously as if looking for something. "Oh yes, yes…I assigned miss Jane to your care, did I not?"

"I don't know her name, it's been literal hours since she introduced herself, but she wanted to one-up me so badly she let me into the max sec wing without much prompting. She's easily emotionally manipulated, even by me who wasn't even _trying_ to do so…"

"Oh dear," he says. Seeming a bit in a dither. "That is a security violation, and we have a zero tolerance policy. I don't like firing people."

"Get someone else to fire her, then, but if you don't, she's going to enable a break-out. Also, I'd like to discuss some supplementary options for Poison Ivy."


	4. Chapter 4

I really didn't think getting Poison Ivy special food supplements and a more welcoming cell environment would lead to this.

Personally, when I go in to consult on people and where they should be placed- it usually either ends with them being sent off or with me being told my opinion is crap and then they go get another profiler who agrees with their ideas of what is and isn't 'crazy'.

God, I still hate that word.

"So you see, miss Loom," the Penguin smiles toothily from across my living room table. "We would appreciate becoming your 'personal clients' as it were."

"I mean, I can't really request things like that, but I can let Gordon know you feel that way," I say. "Otherwise, it's up to my direct superior, Harvey Bullock."

They know everything already, it'd be pointless to hedge or dance around information.

"Fascinating," Doctor Crane mutters under his breath.

Bane is pacing around my kitchen.

"Hm, yes." The Penguin purses his lips and stands the cane in his hands between his feet- fingers twined together over it. "Special allowances are usually made for the higher pedigree criminals, you see. I'm certain Commissioner Gordon will have no problem with the arrangement."

"Sure," I reply. "I'll call him when you leave."

The Penguin smiles affably. "Of course. No need to wait on us to be out of the way, we will be gone from here before any police cars arrive."

He then stands up and ushers Doctor Crane out of the room, toward Bane who holds the door open and follows them out as he closes it behind him.

They're right, calling it in right now or in five minutes- they'll already be gone.

Sighing, I get up from my living room sofa and take out my cellphone, dialing Gordon's office number. He should still be in, doing paperwork.

It rings twice before it's picked up.

"Gordon here," he grunts into the phone.

"I just got a visit from Penguin, Bane and Doctor Crane," I say. "You mind sending someone to my apartment to take a statement?"

There's a pause on the other end. "I'm on my way."

"You don't have to come pers- and you hung up," I say and purse my lips. "I'm guessing this means I'm getting a security detail…"

And then my eyes turn to the door, where they left and something suddenly hits me…

Bane has a reputation for being a Thug- but he's also really savvy. Cunning.

And Penguin and Crane are both masterminds in their own ways.

Three of the cleverest people in Gotham come straight to my door because they want in on the inside track…

But what about the others?

I'm probably gonna _need_ that security detail, then.

It may be only the ones clever enough to try and get ahead of all this but not clever enough to realize that coming directly to me might scare me right out of Gotham.

Or they were all the vindictive types who wouldn't care either way.

Maybe that means everyone else will take a different approach?

And then an envelope falls through my mail slot and I open my phone to call the Commissioner's personal cell number.

"Someone else there, now?" he asks briskly.

I can hear his car engine in the background and the siren on.

"A green envelope just fell through my mail slot," I say.

"Damn. Get out of the apartment, pull the fire alarm. Could be anything in that envelope, I'll put in a call and get someone to come out and check the area. Get everyone out of that building." He orders.

"Already on my way, Commissioner," I reply.

After hanging up, I head to my room, pack an overnight bag and then leave.

I can't leave my case files and need clothes for work in the morning, after all.

Hopefully those people can come back after everything's been checked over.

But it's likely _I'll_ have to stay under police protection for a while.

I grab a couple of extra notebooks and pens too, so I can keep working wherever they stick me without having to ask someone to come back and get them.

And then I pull the fire alarm.

Everyone's pretty grumpy about it when they get outside and see there is obviously no fire.

"If some punk teenager pulled our fire alarm for kicks, I swear I'll hunt 'em down and make 'em swallow their backwards hat," an old man from the higher floors in a wheelchair huffs.

"You can't get in the building without being buzzed in!" says a young girl from…I think the mid-level of the building.

I can tell how high up they were by how winded they are.

The old man had to use his special wheel-chair elevator so I saw the numbers on it as he came down but the girl seems almost ready to collapse from exhaustion. So I'd say mid-level or higher, depending on her level of athleticism.

"It was me," I say and raise my hand so everyone can turn to look at me. "I work with the Police. I got an order to evacuate the building."

"From who in the police?" says a man wearing a wife-beater but whom also looks otherwise really put-together…

"The commissioner," I reply. And then lean around the crowd to point. "Looks like he's coming now."

I could hear the faintest sound of his siren in the distance even before I pointed him out. His car is moving so fast that it's within blaring range now.

"S'means there's rogues afoot," an older man in a trench grumbles. "Everyone. Call family to pick ya up. Not gettin' back in that buildin' tonight."

It's like routine for them. They're grumpy and irritable about it, but they flip out their phones without arguing. Some even loan theirs to others who didn't grab theirs on the way down.

And then the Commissioner is parking in front of the building and getting out to walk over to me.

"Everyone making arrangements?" he asks.

"Yeah, I figured I was going into police custody," I say and hold up my bag.

"Good instincts, get in the car. I'll take you to a safe house and have someone collect whatever you need, or buy it from somewhere if we can avoid leading anyone from your apartment to the safehouse," he says, ushering me to the patrol car.

"I picked up everything from my room I'd need," I say and duck into the back. "Harvey," I greet.

"Hey kid," he replies. "Three days in Gotham, already in deep."

"Does that mean I'm good at my job or bad?" I ask.

"In my experience?" he says. "Doesn't matter. You either pissed somebody off you're everybody's favorite. Either way, bein' the center of attention is _never_ a good thing in Gotham."

"Plus, if half like you, the other half hates you out of spite, right?" I ask.

"Catch on fast for somebody who's never lived in Gotham before. What happened to you before you got here?" He asks.

The Commissioner finally folds himself into the front seat, having cordoned off the front door and gotten the super to lock everything up.

"A lot of things," I reply. "Let's just say I'm used to criminals taking a shine to me and then trying to kill me for perceived slights."

I mean, sometimes it's because I got them arrested for murder, but really, what did they expect?

And hey, I can let a lot of things go, but premeditated murder isn't one of them.

There's a reason I don't look into small-time crime, and that's because people stealing from those with means in order to eat that night are a result of society sucking.

I don't tend to blame individual poor people for society's failings.

But murder. Murder is something that I can definitely always condemn as long as it's not done in self-defense.

So that's why serial killers are my area of expertise and why I don't take smaller cases.

Because I'd catch them. And I don't fancy sending Brenda with five kids to jail just cause she saw a diamond she could sell on the black market for food, clothes and school supplies for the rest of the year in a store window.

"Alright, lets trade off cars and set up a route," the Commissioner says.

"A route?" I ask.

"We've gotta put you through at least five car changes and backtrack at least three times," Bullock answers. "Makes it harder for people to know where you went."

Ah. Well, it's probably useless to try and tell them that if you're being followed, that doesn't really work unless you can lose the tail to begin with.

They probably already know that.


	5. Chapter 5

After the letter went through processing, they made a copy and gave it to me.

They gave the original to the Bat who apparently showed up at my apartment to analyze it before their guys could even get there.

_~_

_To the new little birdy on the block,_

_You are cordially invited to impress me. On the week's end I will send for you, wherever you may be- and you will join me in my labyrinth, where you will think yourself free._

_?_

_~_

The Riddler. Of course.

He tends to be more methodical about things.

Penguin, Crane and Bane might all be very cunning, but they tend to run right into things.

The Riddler thinks of what he does as some kind of dance, or art. He memorizes the steps and executes them perfectly.

Which is kind of why Batman always tends to catch him, really. Patterns and whatnot.

But he's also good at switching up the patterns so you have to learn them all over again, so there's that.

Can't think of why he'd bother with me. There's really nothing in Arkham's set up that would please him.

The other Rogues are easy, they want specific things to make themselves comfortable. Penguin would probably like gourmet food but would likely settle for something of his taste instead of whatever they serve normally in the cafeteria. And Bane would likely want some creature comforts like extra blankets and pillows for when he's coming down off Venom and dealing with not only withdrawal, but the deterioration as well. Maybe even some music to listen to and focus on.

I've read all their files, and all of them could be happier with a few, small things. Things that would make them less irritable while in Arkham and by extension make them less likely to lash out at the guards and other inmates for kicks.

But Riddler? He hates being confined. Has no favorite food, just eats whatever.

Usually something high in sugar and protein, but that's a dietary thing not a preference.

If he had his choice of bedding, it'd be silk and they don't really have the budget for that- and why would they go out of their way to buy high quality bedding that might just end up strangling somebody later?

They're very strict about what they allow in. The strength of it, the bluntness of the object. How hard you'd have to pull on it or throw it to break it.

So I could do nothing for him.

I couldn't get him puzzle boxes because he's obsessed with puzzles and riddles and the psychologists in their infinite wisdom would conclude that that means it's bad to give them to him.

Swear to god it seems like not enough of them actually know what trauma and mental illness looks like from the inside.

Sure he's obsessed with puzzles. And Bane can't stop taking Venom when given the chance. Penguin loves birds and uses them in heists. Doctor Crane likes scary things.

Does that mean that depriving them of these things will do anything for them?

No.

If a person doesn't choose for themselves not to do something, they'll just go right back to doing it after you've let them go on parole or they've escaped.

They're not unruly children who can be kept from getting into the ice cream if you just put a lock on the freezer door.

They can go out and get what they want, do what they want, on the streets of Gotham.

And it's often more incentive to break out if you're absolutely miserable in a place, but hell what do I know?

All I could do was talk to the guy in charge about alternative supplements. And then you know, point out that they could probably project the image of flowers and other plants onto her glass cubicle's walls so that Ivy wouldn't feel so cooped up.

It could be a live feed from a nearby botanical sanctuary or something.

And then they put up those weird holographic posters that you can see through? So that they could keep watch on her and she couldn't hide behind them.

Pretty sure they just wanted to shut me up. And if you ask me, the complete lack of privacy is part of the problem.

It's been five days since I took this job and I've already got every high-tier Gotham Rogue gunning for me for no other reason than…I was nice to someone.

How badly are they normally treated in Arkham that they'd even need me?

Anyway, why would Riddler even want me?

I can't do anything for him, can't get anything for him…

Unless what he wants is less tangible than that.

"Hey there!" A youthful voice says from my window.

I don't startle anymore when people show up in my windows. It's happened too many times now.

So I look up and hum in greeting. "Robin. Door?"

He pouts. "It's cooler this way."

I looked up all the Bat's accomplices too and this Robin is definitely a different one from the first.

For one thing, he's a child. For another, there was another one before him that was also a child.

I'm pretty sure this is either the third or fourth Robin there's ever been.

"People who are actually cool, don't worry about looking cool," I reply. Then open up one of my casefiles. "I told Batman I didn't want children putting their lives in danger for me."

"Yeah he respects that, I'm not here to work," he says. "For the record though-"

"I don't care how good you are at kicking ass," I say.

He makes a little discontented noise. "Fine. Here."

And then he tosses a sack at me. Which I barely catch.

It's got food, deodorant, toothpaste…all the essentials I'd asked for.

Didn't expect the Bat to go on errands, I'm not gonna lie.

I almost bust a gut thinking about him in that costume in a line at the supermarket.

"Thanks, brat," I say.

He makes another noise, this time sounding offended before flipping out of the window.

Does he not realize he's drawing a giant target on this safehouse every time his colorful butt enters and exits the window?

Probably. I mean he's being trained and employed by Batman.

Which means I'm bait. Oh goodie.

Something itches at the back of my head. Something I'm missing.

I close the casefile and put the sack on the sofa next to me.

Picking up the letter copy again, I frown at it.

Hmmm…week's end. The weekend.

No. That's too obvious. He would've just said that. This is a riddle. Of course it is.

But it's not an obvious riddle. He wanted it to seem like a normal letter for some reason. So we wouldn't analyze it further?

If I've gleaned anything about Batman from all my research, it's that he's thorough and paranoid. He's probably figured out what it means by now.

'where you will think yourself free'? Is this an allusion to how I'd have to be clever?

I don't think so, but…what else could it mean?

Well, it's a good thing my work week ends today, no matter what happens. I won't have to start up again until Monday.

I got one free day off tomorrow, plus Sunday. So I'll be able to face whatever's thrown at me, fully rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might end up skipping wednesday's update this time, as I feel like shit and I might have to use that backlog for next saturday and maybe the saturday after that. Dunno, we'll see. Just wanted to warn everyone.


	6. Chapter 6

Now, it didn't immediately occur to me to check every square inch of my apartment for bugs, cameras and other such devices.

No, I assumed the cops had already done that.

But then it occurred to me that assuming is a very _very_ easy way to get captured or dead. I can't believe I'm so out of practice that it never occurred to me to check and make sure the safehouse was _actually_ safe.

And now it's too late.

Because I don't know how or from what corner, but I know I'm being watched. I can _feel_ it like a cold fingertip on the back of my neck. It's just so…

As soon as I woke up this morning, it was like that.

And if I search for what's watching me, whoever it is, will know. The jig will be up.

So I play the ignorant country gal in the big city, who don't know nothin' about no spycams and I very carefully peruse my selections for food and coffee today.

Which is the second clue that something is wrong.

There's a whole new brand of coffee in the cabinet. It's so similar to the other brand in color and text style- but the name is different.

_Questionnaire's World Famous Grounds!_

It doesn't immediately hit me, of course. It's just a bunch of little things that begin to add up.

The coffee is a sign but after making a cup and stealthily testing it with the poison strips I keep on my person at all times- I drink it normally and go on with my day.

Slowly cataloging all the things that have changed, by degrees.

The carpet in the living area was always a deep brown, and now it's so dark green it's nearly black.

The remote has a tiny question mark on the very bottom. Where you'd expect a help button to be- but it's not a help button is it?

Sighing, I decide to put off the next part of whatever this is and wait for him to get impatient with me or…possibly try and wait until the GCPD and/or Batman can find me.

Because I'm no longer _in_ the safehouse.

' _Where you will think yourself free_ '- that's what the letter'd said.

It meant I would literally think I was free when I wasn't.

How, though? How did he manage to get in and get me without being seen?

I don't feel the usual grogginess that comes with being drugged- and there's no way to give me a low enough dosage that I wouldn't notice it in my system without risking it not being enough to keep me unconscious.

My head doesn't hurt and…I have no fucking idea how he did it and it's going to seriously bother me until I figure it out.

So. Guess I'd better get on that.

Alright, what are the facts?

I know he couldn't have used drugs because I'm extra sensitive to them. I'd feel it. Or at least any kind of drug that was meant to render me unconscious…

What about drugs that were only meant to do something else but their side-effects were unconsciousness? What if drowsiness is a lingering side-effect that I wouldn't notice because I'd just woken up, apparently for the new day?

No, I don't think that's likely. I can't think of any pharmaceuticals off the top of my head that would have any kind of effect like that. Especially not one in which the side effects would fade long before I needed to wake for the day.

It should've taken more than the handful of hours I'm sure I was asleep for in order for the side-effects of any drug to wear off.

He'd had to have drugged me the _instant_ I fell asleep or even beforehand to get even close to this kind of result.

So no, no drugs were used.

Plus the Riddler isn't really a _drugs_ kind of guy. He either knocks you out with gas or hits you with his cane, so far as I've heard.

I haven't seen anything in his files that indicates careful use of tranquilizers. But then, they might not have noticed it in people he didn't want them to notice it in.

Any kind of machine that can knock you out using other means hasn't really been invented yet. Even if he's ahead of the curve, he'd probably have wanted to brag about it.

…unless he wanted to use it on someone first, so he could get the drop on them.

What else…

…no. No that's too much.

It can't be that.

…there is no fucking way the building has moved or that-

Or that he moved the apartment safehouse itself! It's not possible!

So what else could it be?

Oh fuck. I'm still in the safehouse.

Which means he snuck in, replaced a few things, probably put some security measures up to keep other people out-but what will that-

" _Hello Detective Loom!_ " an excitable voice erupts from the TV that's now turned itself on. " _And welcome to my Labyrinth!_ "

I'd startle, but honestly I'd been expecting that. That or him projecting himself off the walls or through the speakers of something in the room, that's easy enough to do. Especially for a computer genius.

He backs away from the camera so that the rest of his body is now visible as he sits down in a lavish green armchair. The camera zooms in on him again, professionally done.

So he has minions with him as always. And they're at least competent at their jobs.

"Technically I haven't left the safehouse," I reply. "Even if it _is_ now under your control."

There's something different about his appearance as compared to the files I've seen. His hair is as dark red as it ever was, but something else…

He's gone through many different stages in his career. Armored bodysuits of his own design, suits and ties with bowler hats as an accessory.

Last I'd heard, he was defaulting to a rather casual outfit.

And now here he is in what looks like a bodysuit modeled after a tailcoat? His hat isn't much like a bowler but also couldn't be compared to anything else except maybe either a cowboy hat or a tophat. And it looks like neither of those.

He designed his own fashion. I guess that's what sets apart those in the upper echelons of the Gotham Rogue's gallery.

" _You know, I knew you might be interesting, but I didn't think you'd be quite_ _ **this**_ _interesting._ " His grin is wide and charming above a pair of masked green eyes. " _No reaction to the startle attempt, a dry sense of humor about the whole situation…you're just like us, aren't you?_ "

"Exactly like you," I reply. "Except I don't choose to be a dick."

He tuts at me. " _Now now, no name-calling. It's so far beneath both of us._ "

"Says you," I reply. "Language is a construct. Agreeing that some words are better than others, doesn't make it so. Words are made up. Asshole."

" _I see, you're angry with me,_ " he says with a pout on his face.

"Not only did you kidnap me, you did so without even moving me. Do you have any idea how irritating that is?" I ask. Squinting at the TV screen. "I'm going to guess there are rules and consequences that I should be made aware of before anyone shows up. So tell me. Exactly _what flavor_ of nonsense am I putting up with, this morning?"

" _Oh I can tell we are going to have so much_ _ **fun**_ _together,_ " he says. Lips turning up in a grin that makes me think he probably manipulates a lot of people by twisting his pretty mouth this way and that.

I've seen a lot of pretty mouths and eyes and bodies shown to their best advantage.

' _You're gonna have to be more than pretty to impress me, Riddle Boy._ '

I wonder how he'll react to that revelation?


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm guessing this is important because you're going to find me a way to get out of here and we need to keep in touch," I say as I put the earbud in and mentally scoff at the pageantry going on here.

" _Very good!_ " he says from my ear as he disappears from the TV screen. " _Now…find something small and black and hard as a tack, somewhere you wouldn't expect. Somewhere you'd rather it wasn't._ "

So basically something hard and uncomfortable to either stand or sit on. Or lie on.

Too broad. Not his usual style. "Branching out with the Riddles?" I ask.

" _How absolutely astute of you to notice,_ " he says pleasantly. " _You see, I'm of the opinion that guessing the right answer from many possible answers isn't really a victory unless the clues are absolutely clear in a way the person hearing the riddle doesn't quite know of until they think it through_ _ **very**_ _carefully. So._ "

"Half the clue is gone when it's a _spoken_ clue, though," I reply. "Any word you used could be a pun and spelled differently and I wouldn't know. You're used to writing these down as ideas and then workshopping them with people verbally. And of course they can't find the final parts of the clues because they're hidden behind your method of delivery."

" _Well…_ " He sighs admiringly. " _I haven't been analyzed like this since I met Jonathan Crane when he was working as a doctor in Arkham._ "

"Okay that was very obvious bait and I'm not taking it, no matter how juicy that information might be," I reply. "I really don't care about your romantic, sexual or intellectual attractions to other rogues."

He chuckles lowly, " _that's very good. Very good indeed. You see most doctors I've met, they seem to mistake interest for something…ah…what is the word…_ "

"Deep and meaningful?" I ask. "Spiritual, even?"

" _Oh I_ _ **like**_ _you,_ " he purrs.

"Most criminals tend to," I say. "Either that or vehemently despise me."

My eyes are raking over every flat surface where I might walk, lie or sit. As I move through the living-kitchenette area and into my bedroom- I wonder if the cameras were placed by Riddler himself, or if they were security cams placed by the police.

I'm sure they didn't put one in the bathroom, so people could go somewhere to change and have privacy. I mean, otherwise they might get in trouble for taking video of women undressing if someone ever took exception to the cameras.

And that's when it occurs to me that he might not have meant what I thought he meant by 'somewhere you wish it wasn't'. He misled me with the 'hard as a tack' thing. He didn't mean that it was uncomfortable to sit on, only that it was hard like a tack.

So I head for the most private parts of the safehouse. My bed, and then…the shower.

"What brought on this little game, if I might ask?" I say as I sift through my covers and sheets. "I know why the others sought me out. But there's really nothing I can do to improve the Arkham experience for you, is there?"

" _Oh I don't think there is,_ " he says conversationally. " _Though now that I've spoken with you, a visit now and then wouldn't be remiss._ "

"Yeah not unless I'm _really_ bored," I reply. "I have a feeling more than just the Riddler is going to try my patience in Gotham."

" _True enough. You're simply too much fun,_ " he says.

Found it.

" _Really?_ Taped under the seat of the toilet?" I say. "I thought you were classier than this." Somewhere I wish it wasn't, indeed.

" _You're right, I_ _ **am**_ _too classy for that. My men did this job for me, of course!_ " he says. " _Now…onto the next clue…_ "

It takes me exactly half an hour to find all the pieces of…whatever it is.

"You want me to assemble something when I don't know what it is?" I ask. "You realize this only tests whether or not I've ever done it before. It tells you absolutely nothing about my level of cleverness."

" _I suppose if it were your cleverness I was testing, that would matter,_ " he says breezily.

I roll my eyes. Of course. He wants to know my exact skillset. What I can and can't do. So he can get around me more easily.

"My knowledgebase could be too broad for you to test every little thing for, you know," I mention as I put the thing together.

It's like a puzzle, and since I hate puzzles- well.

That might be too harsh, I don't hate puzzles. I just hate _these_ kinds of puzzles. Putting together pictures or little fiddly-bits. I like video game puzzles, usually- logic puzzles to some extent…

" _Oh I know most of your expertise from your files,_ " he says. " _I'm not really testing to see what you can do, but rather…let's say,_ _ **how**_ _you do it._ "

Of course. It'd be too _simple_ to just test me on what I know, he also has to analyze how I know it and use it. What I'm willing to do to win.

I can already see the endgame here. He wants me to, at some point, be forced to choose between either killing someone or dying.

It's either/or here because I can't recall Riddler ever doing _both_ in any of the labyrinths he's set up before.

Usually his targets are big name billionaires, CEO's, Funders for big projects who have done something to piss him off.

They don't fund the _right_ programs, or they fund them but they're too demanding on the people who're inventing the things they're paying for or…you know, intelligence crimes or whatever.

Crimes against people he feels a kinship to.

"Is this a gun?" I ask blankly. "I'm not shooting anyone, I can tell you that right now."

" _Oh calm down,_ " he says. And it sounds like he's definitely pouting. " _It's only a dart gun! You can find the Darts you'll use to put your security detail to sleep in the refrigerator. It's in a canister._ "

No more Riddles means he's bored or this part of his test is over. If I dawdle, he could get angry and take it out on everyone around me.

Instead of using sleep darts, he could push a button and detonate a bomb.

So I walk into the kitchen, snatch the darts out of my fridge, and fit each one into the ejectable magazine. And I have to do it quickly but carefully enough to satisfy Riddler's need to move things along- and not drop anything.

Once everything is put together, I close the fridge and stare at the dart gun. "This…is going to be harder than just walking out the door and shooting them both. They're GCPD, they're trained for this."

" _And you are not exactly a combat-heavy agent, are you?_ " he murmurs in my ear. " _Oh I can't_ _ **wait**_ _to see how this plays out. Once you're free of the building…I'll give you your first set of clues for the next puzzle I want you to solve._ "

Wonderful. I am seriously considering calling the Penguin and asking for a favor right now. He and the Riddler are good friends, but also really vicious rivals.

…nah, it's not worth it if I think I can get through it myself. I should save that kind of thing for when I'm _really_ in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys really like my nonhuman/human romance stories and you think you'd like it even in an original universe context rather than fanfic, you can go to my blog on Tumblr and find my patreon link in the sidebar. I post a new draft chapter of Separation and Supposition there every saturday now. And on wednesays I decided to publish some writing advice and stuff like that.
> 
> Separation and Supposition is alien/human so if you're into that kind of thing, you might like it!
> 
> Here's my Tumblr:
> 
> Unrealromance.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

"You can't quantify 'intellect'," I say into the earpiece as I traverse the back-alleys of Gotham. "It's just interest plus dedication. Child prodigies only exist because they find their interest and dedication sooner than most other people. Most often because their parents are either very pushy or supportive- or because their home life is terrible and they had to search for an escape."

" _Oh I disagree,_ " the Riddler's voice in my ear is starting to have effects on my brain.

Talking to people on the phone always irritates me because of my audio-processing issues- I can't hear all the time, or to be more accurate…I can't _process_ what I hear all the time.

So having to focus really hard on his voice means I'm imagining his face as he says the words. Which means there's basically a little floating Riddler face-hologram in my brain, overlaid where the alleys should be and I've got to devote part of my brain power to seeing _around_ or _through_ him so that I don't trip over anything.

Why is my brain so _fucking weird_?

" _I believe that we're all born with a spark of brilliance- but if you don't tend to it, that spark goes out. Quickly._ " He says at length, then shifts subjects, " _All brilliance has been discovered at a relatively young age and then fostered into adulthood. People who didn't accomplish anything of worth until they were in their fifties weren't learning to be brilliant- they were already brilliant, they simply hadn't put it to use yet._ "

"What _is_ brilliance, anyway?" I ask. "You talk about it like an abstract concept. It's not. Being really good at something is measurable and explainable. It's not a magical fairytale."

" _You know I do so love speaking with someone who feels that way for a change,_ " he says. He even sounds surprised at himself. Wonderful, I love making Criminals question their ways of life because of my very existence.

Always leads to an exciting conclusion. Sometimes they give up being criminals and run off to an island to retire. Sometimes they wanna kill me.

Good times all around.

"Why's that?" I ask.

" _Other people say it to imply I'm not special. To break me down or temper my ego,_ " he says, slowly. As if coming to a realization. " _But you mean that I'm special because of the work I put in, instead of being born that way. I can live with_ _ **that**_ _._ "

That sounds like a hell of a complex. Tied to worthiness.

"Your parents always mad that you know bigger words than them, too?" I ask.

There's a pause.

" _My father,_ " he replies. " _But you knew that. You had to have looked at my file by now._ "

"I don't look at those parts of people's files," I say. "I talked to a psychiatrist once when I was younger. I said something about my feelings, and how I was reconsidering the world and how I was feeling a lot of things were different now. He flippantly replied something that implied I had intended harm to someone, and that I shouldn't do that. It was…" I think for a moment, trying to find a sufficient word.

" _Humiliating? Irritating?_ " he asks.

"I don't think there's a word for the feeling I had in that moment," I say slowly. "I just know I didn't like it. So I don't do that to other people. Either _you_ tell me about your father and other shit in your past, or I won't know."

" _There was no filter between you and the psychiatrist. You told him and he still misunderstood,_ " he says.

"No, he didn't," I reply. "He just didn't _care_ enough to actually pay attention to me."

Another long pause. " _I see. Your credo is 'care about people', which is simple but difficult. However do you continue to care after everything you've been through?_ "

Oh he's _crooning_ now. He's finally found a way into my head, or so he thinks.

We're out on the streets of Gotham and he hasn't told me where to go yet. He wants me to meander around and come up with shit on the fly, doesn't he? I can't anticipate him if he's improvising, after all.

"If you're referring to the long list of criminals I've put away or been taken hostage by or almost killed in the pursuit of- that's exactly _why_ I care." There's no real point in denying anything or hiding who I am. The Riddler is quicker on the uptake than I can feasibly get lies past without him finding out something else about me that I don't want him to know.

Who I am is not determined by what happened to me in the past. I'm sorta unique that way, or so everyone I see for therapy keeps telling me.

My experiences in the world are irrelevant.

"People need help. I can give it to them sometimes. Sometimes I can't. Sometimes only they can help themselves. But I'm not going to leave them alone," I say.

" _So you do all this for the innocent bystanders,_ " he says. " _Boring, predictable…but valid, I suppose. That_ _ **is**_ _why Batman does it, after all._ " He seems to be trying to convince _himself_ which is strange.

Why would he _want_ to be interested in me as an enemy. Why would he want to be entertained so badly that he makes excuses for things he believes are boring?

"Well, sure, them too," I reply.

There is a very long pause on the end of the line. " _Hang a left into the warehouse and then wait for me to tell you when to go deeper._ "

Doing as he says because I _still_ don't know the possible consequences, I wait for the go-ahead and wonder at why he's being so quiet all of a sudden.

He probably got whatever it was he needed. My motivations? Maybe.

" _You may proceed,_ " he purrs.

And wow isn't that a change from the tone he was using just two minutes ago.

Walking forward, being careful not to trip over anything or step onto any conspicuous question marks or trap doors… I begin to wonder if maybe he had an intended place all along and just sent me on a long trek to cover his tracks.

Right about now, I'm pretty glad I have so much experience dealing with this kinda shit or I'd be bouncing off the walls by this point.


	9. Riddler POV

At first, it was all a very fun facade. Telling her how clever she was, how much I enjoyed speaking with her, and she seemed to soak it all up in the most unexpected way.

And then the words became more and more genuine and I had to stop…saying them.

The most interesting thing about Robyn Loom is that she's an open book and still manages to somehow be _utterly_ fascinating as well as a complete mystery.

Her file speaks for itself. She started out young, in high school- talking down criminals of a sort when some of her fellow classmates were caught up in a shootout with the local police when they attempted to rob a shop. They were apprehended alive because she'd grabbed one of the police megaphones and climbed up somewhere it was hard to get to her so she could talk to them, uninterrupted.

After that, she entered the police academy- trained as an FBI agent later. The tagline in her file when she was asked why she wanted to be in law enforcement was simply 'I want to help people' but it was obvious what she was doing.

Or at least, it is to me. After all, the way she behaves toward criminals, the casual way she accepts my admiration but also seems to expect hatred.

She joined to save the criminals from the police.

As soon as I began talking to her, I suspected there was something different about her. But when I asked my questions and she had answers…everything crystallized.

Robyn Loom is the anti-Batman.

Oh she certainly apprehends criminals and likely doesn't want anyone to die. But she isn't here to protect our hapless victims as much as she is to protect people like _us_ from… Batman and the Police.

The way she talks about it all…the derision in her tone in some places and the fondness in others. The uncaring, lackadaisical way she follows my instructions.

She _is_ one of us. She's just on the other side. How strange. How _did_ she manage it?

"I have a query, if you will, Detective Loom…" I search for a good way to phrase it. What will throw her off the most? "Wherever did you learn how to do what you do? I can't imagine they taught you this in any sort of school."

" _ **Funny thing about schools**_ _,_ " she says. " _ **They don't care if you actually learn anything. They only want to know you've memorized everything they think you should parrot back to people. So long as I could do that, I could form any opinion of whatever research I read that I wanted.**_ "

' _Of course you could_ ,' I purr internally. ' _As soon as you had that diploma only other psychologists and their ilk could argue with you and even then, it would only be seen as the difference of opinion that every expert has between other experts. At least to anyone on the outside, anyway._ '

As long as she stuck to catching criminals and didn't go into the therapist or psychiatrist sorts of business, no one would have reason to come after her license for her unorthodox practices, either. At least in this, most people would dismiss it.

Oh, only criminals would be hurt by her methods, alright. That's only fair. They're the dregs of society, after all.

How very ironic that she decided to use that particular smokescreen for our benefit.

" _God I'm bored,_ " she mutters as she walks through the winding hallways of the underground complex I sent her to.

A relatively low-level Labyrinth. I don't start everyone out in my special project, after all.

" _When do the riddles start?_ " she asks.

I cannot express how delighted I am that I have someone to play with that _appreciates_ how diverting riddles can be.

"Patience," I drawl. "All things come in due time. Speaking of-"

I turn my seat around and grin brightly at the shape darkening my doorstep. I say 'shape' because that is really all you can see in the doorway when the Batman enters.

Even with all the lights on, Batman's suit seems to be a void in space.

It's that new scientifically created shade of black- invented by that Billionaire in Central City. If I recall correctly, an upstart artist created a shade much like it, but much cheaper and more efficient.

The way the light is swallowed but still somewhat reflects off the sharp edges is very dashing. And very telling. Why would Batman use a discount version of a color when everything else he owns is high-tech and obviously expensive?

I'll give him this- a shapeless black blob isn't nearly as menacing as a sharply outlined patch of darkness.

" **Riddler,** " he addresses me, his voice changing device already activated.

"Batman, how good of you to come!" I greet him.

And then Robyn's voice comes over the sound system. " _You just walked into a trap, aren't you supposed to be good at this?_ "

I can't help the way I laugh as I hit the button on my nearby staff and Batman goes falling through a hole in the floor.

He tries to grasp at the edges of it but the panels surrounding that hole are glossed. Even with his sharp clawed gauntlets, it's impossible to get a grip.

As the hole closes up again, I swivel back around in my chair and address the Agent with delight. "Well I'll be, it _was_ a trap. However did you know?"

On-screen she rolls her eyes as the Bat walks over to her.

" _I've read transcripts and listened to recordings. You had the 'trap' voice,_ " she says. Mystifying me. And then turns away from me and says to Batman. " _I wanna have a discussion with the Bat for a moment, hang on. Got anything to block sound?_ "

And then I'm treated to the most _heinous_ noise I have ever heard in my life.

I have to shut off the audio and then wait, watching as Robyn moves behind Batman so that I cannot see her lips move from the angle of the Camera she knows about.

But then I switch cameras and her shoulder is in the way. Switch again and one of her hands is already there, blocking that side of her face.

' _Oh but this one will be a true diamond amongst the coal, I can feel it._ '

She steps away from him before long and gestures in the air.

I tilt my head at that strange action and flick the audio back on. Blessed silence greets me so I assume whatever the Bat was using has now been switched off.

" _The Bat's agreed to play by the rules just this once,_ " Agent Loom says, staring up at the camera. " _So don't throw anything at him that you don't think I could handle or your little test is gonna be over pretty fast. His conditions are that my life not be put in true danger. Which means if I fail a challenge because you're trying to knock him on his ass, game over._ "

I sit slowly back in my chair and stare in utter gobsmacked wonderment at this moment.

The _Batman_ **agreeing** to allow someone to run my labyrinth. And not only that, but Robyn has carefully maneuvered two pieces on the board into a position most advantageous to _her_. She knows this is an irresistible prospect for me and that I'll be careful not to ruin it.

Furthermore she's got an opportunity to match skill and wit with the Bat, and earn his trust and respect.

Everything about this moment is so utterly perfect.

I lean forward and breathe " _As you wish_ " into the microphone before hitting the button to open her section into the larger labyrinth.


	10. Chapter 10

" _Well then! Let me see if I have this correctly,_ " Riddler speaks in that rolling purr over the microphone that I _know_ has to mean something because even Batman glances up to the speakers at his change in tone.

" _Batman cannot interfere unless your life is in danger, so let's just wall off all the little doors I was going to use to test your agility and strength,_ " he says.

And shockingly the room I'm in, lights up. Before we were in near-total darkness with only the barest light allowing us to see maybe two feet in front of us. I assume Batman has night-vision, though.

It's not a room, I see. It's a hallway. A long one, at that. There are like, twenty doors here. And they're all lit up with green question marks.

But here and there, a question mark rotates upside down and turns black.

" _Only five rooms were meant to be_ _ **deadly**_ _, but it seems we still have fifteen more and sprinkled here and there are things that might cause you a bit of pain if you're not fast enough. Deal still on?_ " He asks with an excited little trill in his voice.

"You had five deadly rooms?" I ask with an incredulous tone. "I was sure this was the preliminary place you lead people to test them _before_ the real labyrinth."

" _It is. How curious that you know about that,_ " he says.

Batman stays silent, observing our interactions.

"Wasn't hard to figure out," I say. "How in gods' name do you intend to keep people alive long enough to even reach the real labyrinth if you start throwing death out there in the first preliminary round. Slowly dialing up the danger would give a more well-rounded result. You'd know exactly what they're capable of _before_ they die a horrible fiery death."

" _You misunderstand what I meant by '_ _ **deadly**_ _',_ " he says and chuckles. " _My riddles aren't what kill people, you see. They get frantic, start trying to do some, very frankly,_ _ **stupid**_ _things._ "

"He's telling the truth, for the most part," Batman speaks for the first time since I persuaded him to go along with this. "People end up electrocuting themselves trying to mess with wiring they find or they burn alive while trying to destroy the puzzle room. It's more accurate to say that the Riddler has never personally killed or plotted to kill, _anyone-_ except his old employers. He's still responsible for their deaths, but only in the sense that he put them in the situation that led to them killing themselves."

He still knows it's a possibility though. Hence him blocking off those five rooms. He thinks if people are going to do something he thinks is 'stupid' then they should just do it and die. But he's not actively going to kill them.

So far as I know, people who fail the labyrinth are most often just thrown away, cast out into the street for the police or an ambulance somewhere to find. He doesn't care about their lives, but he's not an outright murderer either.

" _Now, as for_ _ **my**_ _rules:_ " Riddler says grandly.

He proceeds to light up the room in front of me to my right in bright purple. Green question mark still bright.

" _This is the first room. You will do this, then across to the second which is the second on the left, now that the first room on the left has been blacked out. This challenge is meant to be taken exactly this way. In a zig-zagging pattern. Each room has its own rules for playing and solving the riddles and puzzles._ "

Sighing, I move to the first door. Noticing that Batman is staying pretty far behind me. He seems fairly confident that Riddler isn't going to actively try to kill me.

And also seems fairly confident that I won't do anything rash and get myself killed all by my lonesome due to panic.

The Riddler sincerely believes in smarts and stupidity. I don't. That'll make it difficult for him to know how to insult me or predict my movements.

Walking up to the door, I touch the purple part and push, but it doesn't open.

' _Part of the Riddle is getting inside,_ ' I think to myself.

I could just sit on the floor, seeing as there are no penalties to not playing that have been outlined- but I'm curious. And I think if I did that, I'd just piss him off, which is not the result I'm going for.

Okay so the Door is a flat purple plane with just that weird question mark light on it. I try pressing the light as that's the common-sense response to seeing something on a door with no handle, but nothing happens…

The other ones flipped up and turned black when he deactivated the doors. That means this thing turns, but can _I_ turn it?

Finding that indeed I can, and it turns a different color every which way I do so, I realize I have to find the color that corresponds to this door and leave it there for long enough that the door will register it.

It's the first door. It can't be green or purple because the Riddler would definitely leave those colors out- they'd be dead giveaways. Unless he counted on someone clever thinking they might be, in which case he'd leave them in to throw them off. Since this is all preliminary though…he's got to have assumed I'm not that clever to begin with.

Ah-ha. The only colors here are red, yellow and blue.

…hm. The exact colors you need to make up every other color. Maybe it's not a color but a color code?

I move the question mark to the right where blue is and find the space between blue and yellow where they both light up- then tap down. It clicks.

And the door opens.

" _Fascinating,_ " the voice over the speakers is quiet now. " _The fastest anyone has figured out a door puzzle like this is one minute and forty seconds…and that was a special case._ "

That doesn't sound right, "that didn't take me like five minutes?"

There's a chuckle over the line again. " _I see the line here about your sense of time is perfectly accurate. It was seventy-eight seconds._ "

"What kinda pretentious-" I can't believe he just said 'Seventy-Eight Seconds'. "Just say a minute and eighteen seconds!"

"The room seems safe from here," Batman cuts in. Putting away a pair of binoculars. "I'll be standing by, just in case. But there aren't any traps that should maim or kill you."

"Pain's probably inevitable, though," I say. "I'm fine with getting shocked or smacked, just let it happen."

Then, it's time. And so I walk into the room, ready to face whatever challenge might be waiting for me. The door even closes behind me.

Batman will have some kind of device on hand to monitor me even through soundproof walls, right?

I hadn't even really gotten to work with him or his division as of yet. I was still settling in when all this ridiculousness started happening.

Well, hopefully when this is over, I'll be able to get a better feel for him. Right now, I can't afford to focus on him.

The room is empty, all that's here is…wall paneling. Like fancy restaurants. All done up in mahogany. Really fine mahogany.

So he's as rich as everyone thinks he is, or he's using an imitation to keep up appearances.

I don't think it's an imitation, I mean. His pride couldn't take that.

Walking around the room, I press my fingertips to the paneling, checking it all out. When that doesn't pan out, I move on to the floor.

There's nothing in the walls or the floor that I can press or move so I stand to my full height and check the ceiling. It's not a super high ceiling so I can press my fingertips up into it without much trouble.

Then I walk back to the door and find that in the time it's taken me to check everything out, a puzzle's appeared on it.

It wasn't there when I checked the walls, as I checked the back of the door too as part of the walls. It wasn't there when I checked the floor, I checked the floor moulding on the door, too.

And the ceiling…

He must've activated it as soon as I had my back totally turned. But why wait so long? Did I hit some hidden trigger or time limit?

Not knowing the answer, my best option here is to do this as quickly as possible.

The puzzle itself seems simple. There's a pattern on the door and you have to match it in order for the wooden slats to fit back into the door. But you've gotta move several pieces to get that one wooden piece to go into place. And some of the pieces are too big- you can't just move some pieces to put one down in order to get some breathing room.

You've gotta put down two or more at the same time.

Hm. This is actually a lot easier than I thought it'd be? Why would he make it so transparent? Isn't this supposed to test something?

I slowly but surely begin turning and pushing down pieces until they're all in their proper places in the door and it springs open.

' _Ah, wait…this was the tutorial_ ,' I muse while remembering his job before 'Supervillain' was 'Game Designer'.

Lulling me into a false sense of security while also teaching me how to play. How…oddly _fair_ of him.


	11. Chapter 11

"Well…that was different," I say as the Bat and I leave the 'labyrinth' behind. "All those puzzles, no matter how difficult they became, were easily solvable because I had time and a calm head. It was like he was tossing me a soft pitch."

"You shocked him," Batman responds. "You told me you'd been expecting this reaction."

"I was, and that's why I'm surprised," I say. "I hadn't ever even met him yet. I shouldn't have been able to predict something with such…accuracy. Usually I get at least one thing wrong. But everything worked out the way I planned."

The second room had been more difficult than the first, in that the puzzle was the whole wall. I wonder if that means the rooms I would've had to skip were steps in-between that?

Then the third room required me to do the puzzle on the floor just to have a place to walk. If I hadn't been able to and tried to walk across them, they'd probably have broken and caused me to twist or break my ankle.

Then the fourth, fifth and sixth rooms had puzzles on every possible available surface- all the same as the first.

It was in the fifth that I noticed there actually _was_ a time limit.

Because one of the puzzle pieces popped out before I was done and I had to figure out how to put it back in _and_ deal with everything else.

This happened in a few more rooms, but because I had a handle on the puzzles at the point they started popping out, I was able solve the rooms just a few seconds after that, anyway.

It was actually pretty monotonous. Which is weird. It's like he created this specifically to cater to the absolute most ignorant and incapable person he could think of.

"…shit," I say. "He's not done with me. I surpassed his expectations too far. Now he knows what level to set the next labyrinth at. Alright, that's the thing I got wrong then. I thought this was his evaluation but this was just his seeing exactly how far I could or would go. Now he knows I'll follow the rules and that I'm a quick thinker. Next he'll apply pressure and see how I react."

"When you asked me to go along with this, I wasn't expecting Riddler to capitulate," Batman says. "I expected him to whine about the conditions."

Right. He usually whines about 'cheating' a lot.

"To Riddler, everything is a game. A riddle, a puzzle, whatever you wanna call it. And games always have rules. If you wanted to add a rule to make the game more fair- he would absolutely allow it so long as it meant that he could play at all," I explain. "Because I made it 'fair' in the sense that I kept you from interfering, he was glad to meet me half way."

Batman stops me in the road with a hand on my shoulder. It's different from how I expected him to touch people. It's not a rough touch, or a strong grip.

It's a soft, gentle touch that is barely there enough to notice.

He's aware of my personal space and respectful of it. That's pretty rare with men. Usually they end up either grasping your shoulder or tapping your upper arm with the back of their hand.

When I turn to face him, he drops his hand. Definitely the type of man you bring home to mom. No wonder he never interested me the same way he does all the gossipy women in Gotham.

I've always had bad taste in men, after all.

"This proves all your theories on him, I assumed you'd be more excited," he says. Analyzing me from behind those featureless white eye lenses. "I'm glad to see you take it more seriously than most would, in your position. Being proven right about so much, his therapists would be bragging and shoving it in his face."

I grimace. "Then they shouldn't be his therapists."

"Agreed," he says and then there's a change in his face. It's not a smile, but I can certainly infer one from the way his expression goes agreeable all of a sudden. "Maybe you should do something about that."

And then he lifts his arm and his infamous grappling hook shoots upward and a moment later, he's gone.

He'll probably watch me from afar until I get somewhere safe. Protecting me and also luring people out who might want to hurt me at the same time so he can catch them.

Pretty good strategy.

Most people wouldn't like being used as bait, but if he hadn't gone about things the way he did with marking my position and then expecting me to be somehow kidnapped or something- and letting it happen…

A lot more people might've been in danger. And he obviously had some way to watch me. It was probably some kind of recording device from the apartment that the Riddler couldn't detect for whatever reason.

Maybe some kind of trap on the door that would alert him if it was entered or exited or something. Who knows.

Sighing, I take out my phone and call Gordon.

"Loom? Where the hell have you been! The guard on your door says you shot him with a tranquilizer," is his greeting.

"It was either tranq him or wait to see what Riddler might do to him to get him out of the way because I said no," I reply.

He grunts. "Batman said he knew where to find you."

"Yeah we just got out of the kiddie labyrinth he set up to annoy me," I reply. "I think he's gonna take some time and then come after me again. Send a car for me?"

"Yeah yeah, it's comin'. The Bat's sending your position now. Walk over to the convenience store and stay with the clerk till we get there. We're calling over to let him know he's to lock up until the cruisers show," he says.

Right, cause some glass is totally gonna hold off an angry Rogue from the Gotham Gallery…


	12. Riddler POV

I _had_ half-expected to be caught.

I had _not_ expected it to be anyone other than Batman.

"Well you're awfully subdued," Detective Loom manages to sound both taunting and concerned at the same time.

"I am in awe of your abilities, Detective," I reply with a drawl. "The Bat usually catches up to me about now, unless I leave a clever trick in place to redirect him somewhere else…and yet, _you're_ here."

I'm surrounded. It would be useless to struggle at this point. I might be able to fight all these men off, perhaps, with the skills I've learned in my years going up against the Bat…but there are a lot of them and it's always possible that someone could 'slip' and kill me in a big crowd like this. No, when there are multitudes of police surrounding you, surrender is your only option.

I remember that from my third collaring.

"I met up with the Batman at the Precinct after you let us go," she says. "I told him you're mine now. Hope you don't mind."

A frisson of unease trails up my spine as two men approach me on either side. Even though my arms are held high and I know they can't really do much more than manhandle me at this point with everyone here watching…

I can still remember my _first_ collaring like it was yesterday.

Hands grasp either of my arms and roughly pull them down behind my back. Mm. Softer than my usual captures. I guess the boys in blue are in a good mood this eve.

"Oh I am honored to have your attention, Detective," I drawl once again.

Though it happens nearly every time I smartmouth someone who isn't Batman, the blows always manage to catch me by surprise somehow. I suppose, even when you know when pain is coming, it's possible you've forgotten exactly how it felt.

My gut is socked almost _softly_ \- as if they pulled back at the last moment.

I'm too busy doubling over to protect my soft areas to really worry about why- that is, until-

"What the HELL do you think you're doing!? Did you really just punch a man in custody, _right in front of a federal agent_?"

Oh, yes. That's right. Federal Agent. Rubs elbows with the boys in the precinct, but technically outranks them all. Insists upon being called 'officer' or 'detective' instead of 'special agent'.

They were behaving because she was there to see, but their reflex to punch me to shut my 'smart mouth' was just too strong. Couple that with their familiarity with her and their good opinion because she doesn't throw her 'federal agent' weight around and they loosened up _just enough_ to make a mistake.

Ohoho, this is marvelous.

Now, Federal Agents don't usually care about petty little things like this- not where it concerns the Gotham Rogues, at least.

But _Detective Loom's_ entire reason for being a Detective in the first place, is to protect criminals from police brutality. She's a do-gooder who cares primarily about the treatment of the incarcerated, suspects…

And they just hit me right in front of her.

Oh, I am going to _enjoy_ this.

Crumpling to the ground a bit, I cough once and then twice. Then lift my head and smile at the officer on my left. "Softer than usual, Alan. I think maybe you should hit the gym." Then cough again to really sell it.

"Your name is Alan Wells," Detective Loom recites off the top of her head. "Badge Number is known, but I could swear I never met you at the office. Though I've not not been here long, I should've at least seen you once. On leave?"

Her voice is businesslike with a whiplash in every sentence. You can't tell _what_ she's going to do, only that she's going to do _something_.

And the implication that she either has the badge numbers of the officers memorized or has them easily to hand in case of this very issue is…I don't know what to make of how that makes me feel, really.

Huh. Maybe I'll finally have something to talk to a therapist about that isn't made-up. Imagine that.

"I- I'm a beat cop. We only come in for new assignments in Gotham," he replies uneasily.

His grip on me is light now, I could break away, but I stay defiantly in place. Presenting the image of the innocent victim.

"So you and your friends wouldn't have been in the office when Gordon warned you that this would happen," she walks slowly toward him with a careless air about her. "That's okay, that's everyone else's fault for not letting you know. But you'll take the penalty anyway."

And then, something _beautiful_ happens. She rams her fist so hard into his gut that he _gags_.

As he goes down and writhes on the ground like the big baby that he is, she says- "I told Gordon up-front that I knew about your brutality- the entirety of the force here has some issue with it. And I also know that none of you can get prosecuted for it because the bigwigs here are as corrupt as anywhere else."

She goes down on one knee just as he picks himself up and grabs him by the jaw to force him to look at her.

I'm on the same level so I see the ice in here eyes and the way his jaw turns white where she's touching him as if she's gripping _just_ hard enough to cut off blood circulation.

"But I also know that if you wanna press charges against me for kicking your ass, you'd have to explain _why_ \- which means if you press charges against me for retaliating against you in the face of police brutality…" She tilts her head to the side. "You'd have to admit you committed that brutality to begin with. And just so you know, I never turn off my bodycam while on-duty. So 'I didn't do that'? Isn't gonna work."

Oh, he's _pale_.

"And if you really think they're gonna be able to prosecute _me_ and avoid prosecuting _you_ when you're the one bringing it all into the limelight, I urge you to use your brain and _think again,_ " she says.

Her voice never reaches above a certain level of volume and the edge in her words never gets any sharper or duller.

"Because they are _not_ gonna throw their backing behind a single _beat cop_ who doesn't have the awareness to know that this situation would not work out in the city's favor. They would hold _me_ up as a champion of justice and discard you. Not because I'm right, and I am- but because it's more _convenient,_ " she says. "Understand?"

I have _never_ seen a lawman of _any_ kind take matters into their hands like this. Even the Batman will simply verbally rebuke officers behaving badly. The only times he's _ever_ put his hands on a cop is when they were trying to _kill_ someone.

Even then he can usually get away with a lovetap that knocks them out rather than beating the snot out of them like he has to do with us.

We're too durable. We didn't used to be. Of course, it took time to build up the kind of endurance and stamina that it took to face down the Bat.

The police had to, of course, bulk up and train a bit more to keep up with us- but as the Bat was the one doing the actual work most of the time now…well. They're only really able to chase us down and take us in when they're in big numbers, like this.

They're still fragile.

"So Commissioner Gordon gave me permission to beat the shit out of anyone pulling this crap cause apparently he's tried just _telling_ you not to do it and it didn't work. So," she shrugs. "I guess it's all up to me."

I think maybe the entire time I'm being transported after that, I am entirely silent and unresponsive. It's been a long day and I…have a lot to think about.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, for those of you who don't know, my grandmother is in the hospital. The only way I can do announcements is to update my stories, so I'll be putting this message on all three of my updates today.
> 
> Things are looking good, but they could still go bad. I have no idea what kind of mood I'm going to be in or whether I'll be able to write at all. So if I suddenly disappear and stop updating a few times, you guys will know it has something to do with my family crisis.

"A nice thing you did," Riddler calls out to me from his cell as I pass him by. "For Penguin and Bane."

"Didn't figure you'd care," I reply to him, pausing in the hallway.

I had to come to Arkham directly after Riddler's 'trial' which was more of a 'hearing' to determine if he was still 'insane'.

He isn't. But I am certainly not going to be the one to tell them to send him to an actual prison.

I already don't like the Prison Industrial Complex- but sending people who are ready and willing to throw down at any available opportunity is just a recipe for disaster.

Hell they had to move Killer Croc to Arkham because he was taking over the prison, not because he has any actual mental issues.

I figure my silence that keeps the other Rogues out of Blackgate is the same thing.

"Care?" he says and chuckles. "No. Curious, yes. You're a mystery, even though I already know everything about you. People don't usually react to trauma the way you do."

"Well then I guess you find me as fascinating as I find you," I reply. "We should compare notes sometime."

He makes a tch noise by sucking his teeth and then bites his lip. "Now, see…there's a distinct difference between you, the Bat and the Police. I can almost never get any clever banter off of _them_."

"The Bat doesn't want to encourage you," I reply. "And the police don't put much stock in 'clever' usually."

He nods and his lip slips out from between his teeth.

The walls of their cells are mostly cement, except where they open- there it's a bulletproof glass wall. Which I prefer to bars. It at least looks like they could walk out of their cell, even if they know it's an illusion.

It's an illusion that makes their brains think there's more space than there is instead of less. So it's preferable.

"Still, getting a monocle for Penguin and getting Banes' bear out of lock-up…these are very specific favors…" he trails off. His voice was a very becoming drawl.

"If you think you can 'Harley Quinn' me, you're dead wrong," I reply in a flat tone. "Also, they asked for these things. Penguin's agreed not to use his monocle as a weapon, and it was designed not to be useful for that anyway. And a stuffed toy can't really be used to commit suicide, which is their only real concern seeing as Bane is usually in solitary confinement."

He actually chuckles and leans against the bulletproof glass, arm up above his head like he's leaning in a doorway or something. "Oh don't take my flirtatious nature to heart, or I'll break it," he says with a winning smile. "People can't hold my interest for very long. They always become predictable and boring at some point."

"Hm," I reply. "Interesting." And then I smile brightly and enjoy the unnerved look on his face.

"I'll have to be careful around _you,_ won't I?" he drawls again.

My lashes flutter and I tilt my head to the side. "Little 'ol me? Whyever would you need to do that?"

"Hmmm," he hums deep in his chest. "You might be entertaining for slightly longer than I thought."

I shrug, popping my shoulders out and then turn to keep walking down the hallway. "See ya next Crime!"

His pretty chuckle follows me down the hallway and I have something new to analyze.

Riddler doesn't get interested in people, or so his Therapists would say. But apparently it's much more nuanced than that.

Instead of taking comfort in the familiarity of knowing people, Riddler gets bored with monotonous behavior. So it isn't that he doesn't take interest, it's just that nobody can _hold_ his interest.

Wouldn't be surprised to find out he had a crush on Batman, but even _he's_ probably pretty predictable to Riddler's mind.

Every little thing I learn could possibly change his entire psychological profile. After all if he _is_ occasionally interested in people, that means the few times he partnered up in the past might've been times when he was drawn to someone and then got disappointed that they got boring too fast.

Which would mean there's a whole untapped mine of feelings for his therapists to explore…but would I trust the therapists who wrote 'doesn't like people' instead of 'gets tired of people easily' to actually treat him?

_God_ no.

Pulling out my phone as I leave Arkham- because they take your phone when you enter through the front gate -I hit the contact number for Wayne Enterprises again.

It's how I got Penguin's monocle. That man is a humanitarian with a reputation. All I had to do was put in a request with one of his lower-ranked secretaries and she passed it up until it hit someone who could do something with it.

"Wayne Enterprises, research division," a bright and masculine voice answers the phone.

"Dale, that's you isn't it?" I ask. "It's Detective Loom, again."

"Ah, Detective," he replies. "Did the Monocle work out?"

"Absolutely- but now I need you to connect me to whoever can replace the Therapists in Arkham, if at all possible. I want them to start an investigation into their conduct. I think some of them have been simplifying and therefore _falsifying_ the Rogues' files."

He hums in distress, "that's a very serious problem. Mister Waynes' family built Arkham. This is a matter of prestige. I'm gonna have to bring it up to him directly."

"When you do, give him my contact info and I'll tell him what I know," I say. "Or whoever it is he sends to investigate, I'm not picky."

"It'll likely be a go-between," Dale replies. "I'll try and get an appointment with him soon, but it might be a month before I can get up there. Mister Wayne is a very busy man."

Sighing, I nod. "Considering he actually works and doesn't just sit back as the money gets raked in, that makes sense. I'm willing to wait, but Mister Wayne should be made aware as soon as possible, even if it's not through the conventional means. If he has an email, try and send him something with an attention-grabbing info line, like… 'Arkham Therapists Get Lazy' or something."

Dale laughs, "you mean like a Clickbait title!? I can't do that! But I will definitely send him that email, no problem."

"Thanks Dale, I look forward to working with you in the future," I say.

"No problem at all, Detective," he replies. "We always try to help the GCPD as much as possible. They just don't usually make these kinds of requests."

I can imagine.

"Gotta go," I say as I open the door to my pick-up. "Don't wanna talk and drive."

"Absolutely, it was lovely getting to speak to you again," he says. "Goodbye!"

Hopefully soon he'd feel comfortable enough with me to drop the 'customer service' voice…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to help out my family, please check my Tumblr.


End file.
